


I know what you want. I always know.

by WeNeedARuse



Series: When it's like this. [7]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arthurs low self esteem is showing, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, I don't know, Its a weird one, Its not really that explicit, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, a bit - Freeform, a buttload, domDutch, kind of, subArthur, vandermorgan - Freeform, yes there is angst in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 14:12:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18639712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: He takes his hand away, sits back on his heels, and smiles. Wicked and cruel and lovely.“What do you want?”





	I know what you want. I always know.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. It's 3am. My insomnia is back full force. So I wrote this. It's strange, and a bit angsty, and odd, but I think it fits. I goddamn hope! 
> 
> Sorry!
> 
> Oh, also this is kinda a two parter in my head. But the second part has Arthur in a suit...
> 
> As always, mistakes are all mine and comments and kudos are like mangoes are to Dutch :)
> 
> (Also I just want to thank everyone who has been kind enough already to leave comments (and kudos) on this series. To know that you guys really like the stuff I put out there is humbling. It makes me feel like I can actually write. Which is really kind of cool.
> 
> So, thank you from the bottom of my black little heart. You guys are the best.)

When Dutch tells him to scout out Angelo Bronte, Arthur agrees readily. He expected it after all. What he doesn’t expect is Dutch’s last minute decision to go with him. 

He doesn’t hate the idea though.

Especially now, halfway between Shady Belle and Saint Denis, when the sun is dipping and Dutch suggests that they pull the horses in and set up camp.

“Mr Van Der Linde, slumming it out in the wilderness. I would have thought you’d push on ‘til the nearest hotel.” He grins, watching as Dutch sits down on the opposite side of the fire. It’s in his eyes.

Burning.

“Yet here I am.” A shift and the fire is no longer. Arthur takes a pull of his whiskey and watches him.

“I can’t remember the last time you and me did this.” He recognises the wistfulness in his voice and takes another long pull to cover it up. He doesn’t like to show too much.

And sometimes, it feels like he never knows when it’s too much.

But Dutch seems in an amiable mood tonight. Even so, considering the situation. 

And what a goddamn mess they have landed themselves in.

They talk about it, as the moon rises and the air around them cools. Dutch outlays his plan, his need to stay inconspicuous, his reasons for coming with him. 

Some of them even ring true.

“You should get some sleep, son.” The words startle him and he glances up from his prone position by the fire, glances up and sees Dutch looking at him with an expression he can’t even begin to understand. 

“Sure Dutch.” He stands, looks about. Two tents. 

Pretence.

He looks at Dutch again and feels no tension in the air, just the calmness of a southern night.

“Sure.” 

 

* * *

 

A memory, certainly. Half asleep and half awake, floating on the vestiges of years between them. Tents similar to this, nights not so similar. Rain pulsing at the canvas, drowning out the moans.

You can be as loud as you want, when there’s no-one around to hear you.

And other times, mornings, lazy and bright. Arthur laying on his back and Dutch sprawled out besides him on his front. Abandoned in sleep as he never is awake. There is something in that, he thinks, something important.

But memory and sleep and dreams are pulling at him again.

Sometimes, they’d lay there as the storms raged outside, content to know that whatever con they had planned could wait a few hours. Sometimes Dutch would lay there as Arthur stroked his hand down the plains of his back, sweeping over the curve of his ass, allowing him just that little time to worship.

Sometimes, really good times, he’d open his legs a little, let Arthur press inside and get him off with just his fingers.

Sometimes.

Dutch never really wanted to be fucked. 

But he does like pleasure.

Oh and the treatment Arthur always got after that. The harsh continual mind-numbing fucking he received.

Well that was something else.

 

He’s already half hard when that figure appears in the open tent flap, silhouetted against the moon and the fire. Like the first time.

The very first time.

A million years ago.

He kneels besides him, in just his shirtsleeves. He looks younger like this. Or not. Maybe Arthur is still halfway in his memories. 

Fingers grip at his jaw, pulling him to face him.

“Turn over.” 

Oh.

He wants to.

But.

“Dutch, I can’t. I...last time…” Shame, or something frighteningly similar washes over him but Dutch’s expression is something else entirely.

“Oh.” He smirks, that glint in his eyes. Pleased. “Was I too much for you?”

Pride.

It looks good on him.

“Something like that.” His own voice comes out sharp, taunting and he knows it’s his own insecurities but he can’t help it.

He’s never been too much for someone.

The few other lovers he’s had, he doubts he’s ever had them so that they can’t walk for a day, or so that they can’t think, or breathe, or see anything other than him  
But Dutch?

Dutch has made fucking him an art.

“Something wrong Arthur?” It isn’t care, not really. It’s something else. Something harder.

Instead of an answer he leans up, curls his fingers in Dutch’s hair and waits.

Waits to be led.

So he can follow.

He can feel Dutch’s eyes on him as he arches his back, inviting him when he doesn’t move. He leans back, closes his eyes, exposes his throat.

Waits.

“You’re strange tonight.” Dutch muses, his voice deep and dark. “I’m not sure that I like it.” 

Arthur isn’t sure that he likes it either.

Only that he feels disoriented somehow. Caught between the past and the now.

Maybe he’s still dreaming, and in those dreams he’s lost.

“Maybe its the moon.” He says out loud, and laughs.

“Are you drunk?” He opens his eyes.

“You’ve seen me drunk, Dutch. If I ain’t starting fights or puking in an alley, I ain’t drunk.” 

“Delightful.” 

He laughs.

“You raised me.” 

The hand is on his throat before he can say another word. Pushing his head back hard against the grass. He laughs again because he knows if he does the grip will tighten.

But Dutch surprises him.

As always.

He takes his hand away, sits back on his heels, and smiles. Wicked and cruel and lovely.

“What do you want?”

Arthur blinks, stupefied.

“I want you in my mouth.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind. He looks up as Dutch tilts his head to the side, observing him.

Prey.

“No.” He lets go of his hand but Arthur doesn’t let it fall, instead he presses it to Dutch’s chest. Grips at the open collar of his shirt.

“I want to get you off.” He can feel himself getting hard again at the thought. His fingers brush over Dutch’s collarbone.

“No.” 

“I want to make you come.” He’s long past blushing at such words, but even so, he closes his eyes as he says it. His fingers stroke lower as he waits for his answer, down inside the shirt, opening one button.

“Hm.” The voice is a rumble, he can feel it against his palm. “No.” 

Arthur smiles.

It’s not a good smile.

But he smiles and he thinks about things he will never be able to say out loud.

He strokes his hand up, fingers just touching his throat.

“I want…” 

He wants everything all at once. 

He wraps his hand around Dutch’s throat.

And for a moment they stay like that. A strange, broken, unlovely scene.

Then Dutch speaks.

His voice calm, and smooth.

“You see, Arthur. It doesn't matter what you say. Because I know what you want. I always know.” He pushes his hand away and Arthur feels cold at the loss. The heat from him. Dutch like this, his eyes dark, his mouth a thin line, his body…

Arthur stares up at him and can’t find it in himself to feel shame.

When it’s like this.

When Arthur can’t stop his mind from whirring.

Dutch is there.

To tell him what to do.

“Touch yourself.” It’s not a command. It never is.

It’s not a command. It’s a promise.

And he does what he’s told. Willingly. Reaches down inside his jeans and grips himself, stares up into Dutch’s unflinching eyes and does as he’s told.

He’s almost there when Dutch leans close, untangling Arthur's hand from where it’s gripping white knuckled to his unbuttoned shirt. 

He’s almost there when Dutch’s lips touch his ear, his voice soft, unlike anything he’s heard before.

“You want to fuck me.” 

Arthur shakes his head, tightens his hand around his cock.

“Oh, yes you do my boy.” 

He shakes his head again. 

He’s never asked for it and he never will.

It’s not like that between them. 

“You want to come in my mouth.” 

Oh god.

“Down my throat.”

Oh.

Arthur teeters on the edge, pushing his feet flat to the floor, thrusting into his hand as Dutch, calm as anything, reaches down and takes over.

“Do you think you’ve earned it?”

When he comes, he doesn’t keep his voice in. Not this time. He can’t. And he can see in Dutch’s eyes that it pleases him.

The abandon.

And then.

And then he comes down.

“Shit.” He pushes back, away from him. “Shit Dutch.” He holds out his hands as if to stop him advancing but Dutch is back on his heels, the same position.

He’s smiling.

And as Arthur watches, he brings his hand to his mouth and licks at the come staining his fingers.

It's too much.

“Shit, Jesus Dutch.” 

“You should get some sleep.” The sudden change is jarring. Arthur swallows hard. “Suns almost up and we have a long day ahead of us.” 

He nods. He can’t do anything else right now. He’s stunned and exhausted and confused and spent. 

He waits.

Dutch stands, brushes the dirt from his trousers and walks to the tent flap.

Then Arthur speaks up.

“What do you get out of this?” 

It’s a loaded question.

But Dutch just smiles and shakes his head. As if it’s a stupid question. As if he should know. 

“Everything, Arthur. Everything.”

And then he’s gone.

Like the first time.


End file.
